


Two of a Kind

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Sandrock [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Las Vegas, M/M, Poker, Smut, Stubble, Tattoos, card tables, poker chips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11652837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: The Sandrock Resort is hosting the inaugural Winner Poker Championship, and two competitors, Trowa Barton and Duo Maxwell, have a chance meeting before the event starts.





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts).



A/n: Just some smut, hopefully it can brighten your day. For Kangofu-CB.

  


A/n2: thank you Ro! The best beta I could wish for!

  


A/n3: following up on an idea I had on Tumblr, might be more later.

 

A/N4: Special thanks to AngelStarlight for the poker proof!

 

Warnings: language, smut

 

Pairings: 2x3

  


_Two of a Kind_

  


“Your call.”

  


Duo smirked over the top of his cards and looked across the table, meeting the green eyes of his opponent.

  


Trowa Barton. Fuck.

  


Duo had dreamed about playing against him, had watched him on TV for years, and now…

  


Now, they were sitting in the back room of a shithole casino in downtown Las Vegas, miles from the gilded poker tables of The Sandrock Hotel and the Winner Poker Championship.

  


Everyone had dropped out after the flop, and when the turn produced the ace of clubs, one of the grizzled guys who had folded groaned and muttered something.

  


Duo didn't know these guys, but it was clear Trowa did. From the moment the auburn haired man sat down, it had turned into a family reunion, everyone tossing around memories and jibes, and Duo, who only moments before had been charming his way into figuring out all of their tells, had been ignored.

  


But not by Trowa. Those green eyes had watched his every move, had followed Duo’s fingers as he slid chips into the pot and fiddled with his drink, and it was fucking _unnerving_ to have those eyes devouring him.

  


And now it was just them.

  


And three thousand dollars.

  


Howard hadn't been kidding when he said Duo could clean up in these backrooms.

  


Then again, Howard hadn’t mentioned anything about Trowa fucking Barton crashing the game.

  


Duo glanced at the table again.

  


Ace of clubs.

  


Queen of clubs.

  


Jack of hearts.

  


Ten of spades.

  


Duo looked down at his hand again.

  


King of clubs.

  


Ten of clubs.

  


He had a straight which wasn't shit, but definitely wasn't enough to feel comfortable.

  


But he was one card away from a Royal Flush, which was the exact opposite of shit.

  


He wondered what the guy who had folded had had. Duo was betting a pair of aces, based on his reaction when the ace of clubs was revealed at the turn.

  


Then again…

  


Duo looked at Trowa’s face, so perfect and calm it might as well be carved from marble. Nothing phased the guy, ever.  And these dudes… they all knew Trowa. They _didn't_ know Duo.

  


He wondered if the muttered comment was an attempt to fuck with him, to stack the deck in Trowa’s favor.

  


Fuck.

  


Howard had warned him that high stakes live poker was a hell of a lot different than online games.

  


And he hadn’t been lying.

  


One card would make all the difference.

  


Then again, the trick with poker was to play the players as much as the cards.

  


Duo had watched Trowa for years. Trowa didn't play with the fuck-all panache of Zechs Merquise, or the precisely calculated betting of Dorothy Catalonia, or even the teasing playfulness of Hilde Schbeiker.

  


Trowa Barton played to survive. He could bluff his way out of damn near anything, but when it came down to it, Trowa wanted to stay in for the next hand.

  


And Duo…

  


He looked down at his chips.

  


Duo had nothing to lose. Well. If he really lost, he wouldn't even have cab fare to get back to his hotel, and he’d have to hike six fucking miles to get back to The Sandrock.

  


“All in.”

  


One of Trowa’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, as did the right corner of Trowa’s mouth.

  


Duo had seen that exact expression on his face when Trowa beat Zechs at the World Series last year. Zechs had been bluffing, and Trowa had had two aces in hand to pair ever so nicely with the two on the table.

  


_Fuck_.

  


Trowa was still smirking as he leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink.

  


No limits here, where the game was between friends and bullshitting each other was part _of_ the game.

  


Trowa set down his glass and straightened up.

  


“I’ll see your bet.”

  


He slid all but two hundred-dollar chips into the center.

  


Five thousand dollars.

  


Fuck. This was it, then. One of them was taking all of it.

  


The dealer, a red haired woman named Cathy who treated Trowa like her kid brother, aborted a laugh.

  


“Not much on foreplay, are you two?”

  


There were some laughs around the table, but Duo found his face heating up at the words.

  


He sure as hell wouldn't _mind_ some foreplay with Trowa Barton. Hell, he wouldn't mind _no_ foreplay. The man was a walking wet dream, and Duo… Well, Duo had definitely had more than a few dreams about him over the years.

  


Duo had hoped to scare Trowa into folding, but, well…

  


Cathy picked up a card.

  


The river. Here they were.

  


Jack of clubs.

  


It was an effort, such a painful fucking effort, but Duo kept his face blank.

  


Don't give anything away, Howard had told him. Even when you win. Don't let ‘em know that you give a flying fuck. Ever.

  


“Well, since you both blew your loads early, showdown time,” Cathy announced.

  


Without a bet in this round, first show went to Trowa, sitting just beside the button.

  


He dropped his cards down on the table, a careless little toss that was something of a trademark for him. Shitty hand or brilliant, he always tossed the cards down like he was just a little bored.

  


Ace of hearts.

  


Ace of spades.

  


Duo couldn't help but glare at the asshole who had muttered after the flop. He _had_ been trying to fuck with Duo.

  


It was a good hand - three aces and the pair of jacks meant a full house.

  


There was silence around the table as Duo laid his cards down, holding them at the bottom and fanning them out on the table.

  


“Oh, fucking _shit_.”

  


There were other exclamations, curses - someone slapped Duo on the back.

  


He was oblivious to everything except for Trowa, both eyebrows raised and eyes sparkling. He lifted his glass and saluted Duo with it before finishing off the drink.

  


“Well, you playing ‘til the death?” Cathy indicated the two chips sitting in front of Trowa.

  


Trowa shrugged, his eyes practically dancing with amusement.

  


“Two hundred dollars isn't all that exciting,” he murmured.

  


Duo was pretty sure they could play with pennies and the game would be exciting. Playing opposite Trowa was like licking his hands and running towards an electric fence.

  


“I'm calling it a night,” one of the cleaned-out players declared.

  


“Same.”

  


The table cleared, everyone stopping to squeeze Trowa’s shoulder and nodding congratulations at Duo.

  


Cathy stood up and stretched. She passed the button towards Trowa.

  


“I need to get back to it. You kids play nice.”

  


Duo watched her walk out of the backroom, presumably returning to the floor of the aged casino. Hours ago, when Duo had walked in and clumsily dropped Howard’s name to all the wrong people before Cathy overheard him and pulled him aside, the place had been empty.

  


When Cathy opened the door, however, he could hear the sounds of conversation, of slot machines and cries of victory and loss.

  


Duo turned back to Trowa when the door closed.

  


The green eyed man picked up his two chips and tossed them into Duo’s pile.

  


“You want me to break them for you?” Duo started to sort out fives and tens.

  


“No. Keep it. I think we both know it was heading your way.”

  


That was unexpected.

  


Duo didn't bother to keep the shock off of his face, and Trowa smirked again.

  


“You're here for the tournament?” Trowa hazarded.

  


Duo nodded.

  


“Good. I’ll be looking out to see how you do.”

  


Well, _fuck_.

  


“I, uh… thanks.”

  


Trowa got up, long, lean body unfolding as he stretched.

  


Duo couldn't tear his eyes away.

  


He had always had a thing for Trowa’s tats, for the number three on the outside of his left hand, for the four suits on the knuckles of the fingers on both hands and the jokers on his thumbs, for the trails of cards on his upper arms that were sometimes visible below his sleeves.

  


Trowa Barton was sexy as hell, and it was clear he was _well_ aware of that fact.

  


Duo could see the play of muscles in Trowa’s arms, shoulders and torso under the thin cotton t-shirt that clung to him. And his pants… Duo didn't think it was even _legal_ for pants to fit that fucking well.

  


Stretch done with, Trowa rounded the table.

  


“Mind if I offer a tip?”

  


Duo licked his lips and tried to make his brain remember English.

  


“Uh, sure.”

  


Trowa leaned against the table directly beside Duo, close enough that Duo could _feel_ his body heat.

  


Well, almost that close.

  


Trowa braced his hands on either side of Duo’s chair and bowed towards him.

  


Instinctively, Duo pushed himself back into the chair, his brain screaming _holy shit what the fuck oh fuck he smells so fucking good and he's got fucking freckles on his cheeks and fuck his eyes are so fucking green and how the fuck do I breathe._

  


“You do this thing,” Trowa's voice was barely above a whisper, “when you think you're going to lose.”

  


“I… I do?” He was stuttering. Like a kid trying to ask a guy out to prom.

  


“Mm. You get this glow in your eyes, like you're about to throw matches onto some gasoline. And your mouth…”

  


Duo had to swallow a few times, had to keep himself from drowning in eyes that seemed pretty on fire themselves.

  


“My mouth?”

  


“Yeah. You…” Trowa trailed off as he leaned even closer, and Duo wondered what the hell was-

  


Trowa’s lips pressed against his, firm and confident, and _fuck_.

  


_Fuck_.

  


Trowa Barton kissed like _he_ was throwing matches onto gasoline. Like the world was about to go up in flames and he was sure as hell going to enjoy every last second he had.

  


_Fuck._

  


Trowa eased away, and Duo heard himself moan in protest.

  


He wanted to crawl under the table and never, ever come out.

  
  


Trowa smirked at him.

  


“What, uh, what about my mouth?”

  


Trowa chuckled and reached up with his right hand. He ran his thumb over Duo’s lower lip and then the upper, pausing at the right corner.

  


“You smirk.”

  


“I smirk when I think I'm going to lose?”

  


Trowa nodded.

  


“It's adorable.”

  


“Adorable?” He didn't want Trowa fucking Barton to call him adorable.

  


“Mhmm,” Trowa confirmed. He had shifted his hand to Duo’s jaw, tracing his way to Duo’s ear and then tangling his fingers in Duo’s hair. He curled his index finger around a lock of hair, the tattooed heart disappearing.

  


“That, and sexy as hell.”

  
  


Okay. Duo could work with that.

  
  


“You telling me I distracted you?”

  


Trowa snorted in amusement.

  


“I've played across from a pretty face more than once. But, now that you mention it, there _are_ a few other things on my mind right now besides cards.”

  


“Such as?”

  


Duo felt himself grinning at the way Trowa’s eyes narrowed.

  


Trowa gave a gentle tug on Duo’s hair, drawing him close again.

  


This kiss was just as intense as the last, with the new and definitely game-changing addition of tongues.

  


They were both breathless this time when Trowa pulled away, and Duo’s hands had found their way into Trowa’s hair, mussing up the perfectly-styled strands. A clump now fell over Trowa’s forehead, partially hiding one eye.

  


“Such as fucking you,” Trowa breathed into Duo’s ear.

  


“I, uh…”

  


Duo had no clever rejoinder for that. Especially not after Trowa sucked his earlobe into his mouth, gently biting it, and _fuck,_ that had always been a thing for Duo, had always made him crazy and-

  


“Condom?” he gasped.

  


“And lube.” Trowa sounded amused, the scrape of his stubble on Duo’s cheek as he pulled away making Duo want to rub against him.

  


They pushed the chips aside, and then Duo pushed Trowa down onto the table, thinking that this was a fucking fantasy- Trowa Barton, mouth swollen and eyes glazed and cock hard - very, _very_ hard - for _him_?

  


Duo straddled him and leaned down, capturing Trowa’s lips in another one of those world-ending kisses.

  


He felt Trowa’s hands roam over his body, nimble fingers confident as they discovered how to make Duo writhe and groan.

  


Duo had to get back off the table to take off his clothes, and he had to stop halfway through pulling his trousers down to watch Trowa sit up and pull off his shirt.

  


There were more tattoos.

  


Holy fuck, there were more.

  


The suicide king over his heart, a pair of twos on his right side, a spade riding low on his left hip, partially covered by those obscene trousers...

  


“You're staring.”

  
  


“Yeah, well, you're giving me plenty to look at.”

  


Trowa chuckled and then eased off the table, standing up and slipping off his trousers and underwear in one go.

  


Duo was pretty certain Trowa Barton was blessed with the most beautiful cock in the world.

  


He reached for it, greedy and curious, and it felt like fire, felt like a fucking branding iron when Duo wrapped his hand around it.

  


Trowa closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

  


“How are we doing this?” Duo asked, stroking that perfect cock and managing to coax a groan from Trowa’s parted lips.

  


Trowa opened his eyes and smirked.

  


“You won. How do you want to celebrate?”

  


Duo laughed at that, and then reached for the lube that Trowa had set aside.

  


He wondered if it was some kind of travel-sized container - it looked no bigger than a tube of hand lotion. He made a mental note to get his own.

  


In case of future poker table sex.

  


Trowa waited to see what Duo’s next move would be.

  


“Lay down,” Duo said.

  


The smirk was back, green eyes once again on fire, and as Duo slid one slick finger inside Trowa’s body, he was pretty sure _he_ was on fire.

  


He coaxed Trowa open, sliding another finger in and finding the spot that had Trowa arching off the table and his lips falling open in a silent moan.

  


Duo was confident he wasn't going to last long, and as he slipped the condom over the weeping head of his cock, he told himself not to fuck this up.

  


_This is never going to happen again. This is going to be the best night of your entire life. Don't fuck it up._

  


He spread more lube over himself and adjusted Trowa’s legs, lifting one over his shoulder while Trowa wrapped the other around Duo’s waist.

  


Duo took his time, sliding inch after inch of his cock into Trowa until they were joined.

  


“Holy fuck,” he breathed.

  


Trowa was so tight and hot, his naked body flushed and his cock still hard, shining with precum and begging for attention.

  


Duo gave an experimental thrust, and he didn't know which of them groaned louder.

  


“Touch yourself,” he begged.

  


Trowa’s eyes were as green as the felt he currently decorated. Just as magical and impossible to look away from.

  


Duo tried to set a slow pace, tried to take his time and enjoy every second of pulling out and pushing in and the way Trowa’s body clung to him as he moved.

  


But Trowa’s hand, strokes firm and quick on his own cock, was damned distracting.

  


Almost as distracting as the sounds Trowa was making - low, wanton sounds that made Duo’s blood sing, and made his cock ache and his balls heavy, and fuck fuck _fuck_.

  


He lost all sense of rhythm as he thrust into Trowa’s body.

  


“Please, fuck, Trowa, this is- Jesus _fuck,_ you feel amazing. God, I-”

  


He came, consumed with pleasure and Trowa and heat and-

  


Duo had to brace himself on the table, bowed over Trowa’s body, spent and breathless and utterly wrecked.

  


“Oh my god.”

  


He tried to pull himself together.

  


Trowa was still hard, hips moving erratically as he thrust into his own hand, and Duo leaned down.

  


He eased Trowa’s hand away and replaced it with his mouth.

  


Trowa groaned, hands clenching at Duo’s shoulders.

  


Duo swallowed the spurts of cum, relishing the taste and the feel and the gasp of pleasure that seemed beyond Trowa’s control.

  


Afterwards, they were silent.

  


Duo put himself to rights and watched Trowa do the same, watched his glorious body and all of those tattoos vanish.

  


Trowa caught him staring and arched an eyebrow at him.

  


“This was, ah, nice.”

  


Nice didn't even _begin_ to describe what it had been, but Duo seemed to have forgotten how to string together a word with more than a single syllable.

  


Trowa’s lips twitched, but he nodded.

  


“Fancy a rematch?”

  


Duo sincerely hoped Trowa wasn't suggesting they play another round of poker.

  


Trowa chuckled at the expression on his face and leaned close, delivering another scorching kiss.

  


“Good luck in the first round tomorrow.”

  


And then he was gone, sauntering out of the room as if he was putting on a show, and Duo enjoyed every second of it.

  


Alone, Duo scooped up his winnings.

  


Trowa’s last two chips, the two hundred-dollar markers, he slipped into his pocket. The rest, he prepared to cash out.

  


It was, he hoped, a damn good way to start his weekend in Vegas.

  


And he couldn't think of a better way to end it than with the grand prize and a chance for a rematch with Trowa.

  
  
  


-0-

 

That's it for now!!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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